I will post links to my readings from the first few chapters of my recent novel, Hire Lernin’: An Idealist’s Quest Through the Realm of for-Profit Education. The novel involves the bittersweet journey of a young, idealistic, naïve attorney who takes on the role of academic dean at a for-profit business school in New York City in the late 1980s knowing very little about the industry. Unable to accept the way things are, he immediately launches into a personal quest to change lives for the better in an environment where only the bottom-line matters. Hard work and an entrepreneurial spirit quickly propel him to professional success, but at a deep personal cost in the process as he learns critical life-altering lessons about himself, about leadership, about for-profit and not-for-profit higher education, and about love.

The novel itself is available in eBook and paperback versions from most book sellers. And I recently released audiobook versions of both the original English version and my Spanish translation that are also widely available. These are cold, unedited readings and are not part of the actual audiobooks now available. I recorded these for fun and posted them to my YouTube channel in the past and am providing links here. They serve an interesting contrast to the actual audiobook version. (You can also listen to brief previews from my various audiobooks at the following link: Audible.)

I hope you will enjoy these simple chapter readings as much as I did recording them.

You can hear an unabridged reading of the first two chapters by clicking HERE.

Hire Lernin’

An Idealist’s Quest Through the Realm of for-Profit Education

(C) 2021, 2025 Victor D. López, J.D., Esq.

This is a preview of the first two chapters of my published novel that involves the bittersweet journey of a young, idealistic, naïve attorney who takes on the role of academic dean at a for-profit business school in New York City in the late 1980s knowing very little about the industry. Unable to accept the way things are, he immediately launches into a personal quest to change lives for the better in an environment where only the bottom-line matters. Hard work and an entrepreneurial spirit quickly propel him to professional success, but at a deep personal cost.  In the process as he learns life-altering lessons about himself, about leadership, about for-profit and not-for-profit higher education, and about love.

_________________

Chapter One: Dreamers Dream Until They are Awakened

Dan peered out of his Jackson Heights second story apartment window hoping to spy the letter carrier’s cart on the sidewalk below bearing good news. He had risen as usual at 8:00 a.m., showered, dressed and was at his desk by 9:00 a.m. ready to face the world, which these days largely meant waiting for the mail to arrive or the phone to ring with an interview offer while working on a book about public domain software that he had begun writing. A classic overachiever, Dan was undaunted by the fact that he had settled into this routine two months ago and was still waiting for a reasonable job offer that he could actually accept. No matter, he would persevere and everything would be fine.

Success had always come easily to Dan. He completed middle school in two years in a special progress class, graduated from one of the best High Schools in the country, Brooklyn Technical High School, with honors, and excelled not only in the traditional college-level math, science and technical courses that formed the foundation of his pre-engineering curriculum, but also in the humanities and social sciences. College had been more of the same. He looked forward to every class, never managed his GPA by dodging hard courses or dropping courses in which he was not maintaining an A average, never cut classes, and graduated with high honors. Both his I.Q. and LSAT scores qualified him for membership in Mensa, an organization he had absolutely no interest in joining. He coasted through law school, though his grades were only average as he was frustrated and bored by the emphasis on memorization and regurgitation of facts, issues, holdings and rationales for cases in the traditional case method employed by the law school he attended (and most others for that matter both then and now).

Dan had decided to go to law school to help people, to make a difference, and to promote justice—actually believing these clichés with the fervor and innocence possible only for recent arrivals from faraway galaxies and people whose only exposure to the law and lawyers is derived from romanticized Hollywood movies, novels, and television shows. His delusions did not survive the first week of law school. He knew almost immediately that he would not practice law as a career, at least not as his primary occupation, but stubbornly decided to stick it out for no better reason than he had always completed anything he started, and law school would not be the exception. So, instead of leaving law school after a week, a month or even a semester as any rational person faced with the clear evidence that he had made a terrible mistake would have done, he plodded onward. He could have pursued a Ph.D. in political science, English, philosophy or any of the half dozen other fields that were of real interest to him in the humanities and social sciences where he could have found a fulfilling career as an academic. Instead, he chose to stay in law school and use his law degree to obtain a non-legal corporate position in human resource management, government compliance or one of the many other areas in business in which knowledge of the law and the ability to give legal advice are essential.

After graduating from law school, he took and comfortably passed the grueling New York State bar exam, though he would not receive the results until December and would not be admitted to practice until the following spring, just like everyone else who passed the bar exam. In the meantime, he had worked on Wall Street for a year hating the experience. Once admitted to practice, he prepared his resume and sent out application letters, neatly typed and appropriately listing his educational experience and competencies seeking to find more satisfying work. With no relevant work experience, however, responses were not what he had hoped for that summer. He received perhaps one interview for every ten or fifteen application letters sent out. This was actually much better than average, especially since he was not applying for work as an attorney. He should have expected three to five interviews for every 100 letters sent out, but he did not know that. Accustomed to success and with an unrealistic notion of his marketability and value, he was disappointed at getting at best a couple of interviews a month and was even less enthusiastic about the salaries offered for the entry level administrative and consulting positions for which he interviewed and which he was offered.

But this week would be different. In researching positions for which he would qualify as someone with a law degree, he had learned an interesting fact: more college deans hold a Juris Doctor degree than degrees from any other discipline. This appealed to him, and he had instantly decided that rather than accept any of the unsatisfying offers like the ones he had recently received, he would concentrate on obtaining a dean’s position at an academic institution. The fact that most college deans are highly experienced academics or accomplished professionals before their ascension to administration is something that completely escaped Dan’s less than comprehensive research into the subject. Thus, his mind made up about a career choice that would after all vindicate his decision to obtain a law degree, he readjusted his resume, developed a new cover letter, and began to apply for deans’ positions from The Chronicle of Higher Education. And, not knowing any better, he also kept reading The New York Timesclassifieds hoping to find those types of positions listed there as well.

Within a few days of making this new life-altering decision, he had sent out a half dozen new application letters to community colleges in the New York, New Jersey, Connecticut tri-state area from the Chronicleand one to Practical Entrepreneurial Management Training Institute (PEMTI), a local business school Dan had never heard of. The cryptic ad in the classified section of The New York Timesread: Academic Dean. Leading business school with branches throughout the tri-state area is searching for an Academic Dean for its Queens campus. Competitive salary and benefits. Master’s Degree required; Doctorate preferred. The only other information was an address for PEMTI at Queens Boulevard in Kew Gardens, an area not too far from Dan’s apartment.  He then waited for a call he was sure would come, oblivious to the fact that the lag time between the submission of an application for a dean’s position and the search committee selection of candidates for preliminary phone interviews and, eventually, on-campus interviews take months at traditional academic institutions, even at lower-level community colleges and baccalaureate institutions. But ignorance is bliss, and Dan eagerly expected a call or letter inviting him to an on-campus interview within a week of having sent the application.

It is said that even broken clocks are right twice a day—well, at least that’s true for the old-fashioned analog ones. And this morning, just three days after mailing his application, his phone rang.

“This is PEMTI calling. May I speak to Daniel Amor?” The woman’s husky, southern accented voice gave Dan a sudden adrenaline surge as he quickly responded, “This is he.”

“Good morning, Mr. Amor. I’m calling with regard to your application for the dean’s position. Will you please hold for the director, Mr. Lantz?”

“Yes, thank you.” Dan tried to keep his voice calm as his heart rate sped up further. A click on the line was followed almost immediately by the mellow voice of a man exuding cheerfulness.

“Dr. Amor?” The voice queried.

“Yes sir, good morning” Dan answered.

“Good morning. I’m Marvin Lantz, the school director. We received your application for the dean’s position and would like to bring you in for an interview. Are you available this week?”

“Any time this week is fine with me, Dr. Lantz,” Dan retorted without the usual response he knew he should give about having to consult his schedule in order to not appear overeager and unattractively unoccupied.

“Call me Marvin, please. I’m an MBA, not a Ph.D. or Ed.D. Can you come in tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.? We’re on Queens Boulevard about two blocks from the courthouse on the fourth floor of the Wang Office Building. Our school is actually on the fourth and fifth floors.”

“I know the area and have your address. I’ll be there at 10:00 a.m. Thank you. I look forward to meeting you, Mr. Lantz.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting you as well. See you then,” Marvin replied and hung up the phone.

Dan smiled widely. Finally, he had an interview he could really look forward to. He called his girlfriend, Linda, as soon as he got off the phone, eager to give her the good news.

“Morning babe,” he said as soon as she picked on the phone. “I have some great news!”

“Hi Dan. What is it?”

“I just got called in for an interview at a local business school for a dean’s position.”

“Yeah, and I just got crowned Miss Universe,” she scoffed.

“I’m serious!”

“You told me you sent out applications for deans’ positions a few days ago. How can they possibly be interviewing already?”

“I guess they know quality when they see it,” he quipped.

“Joke all you want, but be careful. I see a huge red flag popping up here.”

“Gosh, Linda. You’re such a damned pessimist. Why are you perpetually raining on my parade?”

“Because I love you and someone has to protect you from yourself. You always see the glass as half full, and even if someone takes the time to make you see it’s actually completely empty, you’ll point to rain clouds in the horizon and argue it will soon be full again.”

“So, shoot me for always looking at the bright side, Ms. Perpetual Party Pooper! For me the glass is always half full, true; for you it is always completely empty, dusty, cracked and lying in the middle of the Sahara Desert under six feet of sand,” Dan said with a tone of exasperation, yet knowing full well that she was right.

“Just be careful, Dan. Congratulations on getting the interview, but be wary.”

“I will, Linda. Have some faith in me, won’t you?”

“I have always had complete faith in you—it’s your judgment that worries me.”

“I’ve gotta go,” Dan said. “I’m off to the library to do some research. We can talk tonight,” Dan said, giving the receiver a kiss and hanging up the phone.

He knew Linda was right—she almost always was. He could be impulsive and allow his enthusiasm to cloud his judgment. Nevertheless, he felt some annoyance at Linda’s harping on the negative rather than exploring the positive. She was a realist who looked at the positive and the negative in every situation and parked herself somewhere in the middle. Dan was an idealist who had a hard time accepting any reality he found unpleasant or unfair and would look for a rainbow in the middle of a hurricane, even if it killed him.

After getting off the phone, he did what he did best: turn to the task at hand and devote his full attention to it. He needed to get as much information as possible about PEMTI in preparation for the interview with little time to do so. In the days before the Internet, a library’s holdings were the only effective way to research a prospective employer, so he headed for his car to take a quick trip to the St. John’s University library to find out anything he could about PEMTI. Unfortunately, it was a trip that would prove fruitless. The same was true of his trip to his public library.  Returning home that evening, he avoided going to see Linda as he knew she would harp on his need for caution and make him miserable. Instead, he called her, and they chatted on the phone briefly. He also called his parents who were much more enthusiastic about his good news knowing nothing about the usual process involved in a dean’s search and, therefore, offered Dan only the encouragement he craved.

____________________

Chapter 2: The Interview (Part One)

The next morning, Dan got up early, put on his best suit and gathered his leather portfolio, placing extra copies of his resume and undergraduate and graduate transcripts in it along with three glowing letters of reference from professors who knew him well and could vouch for his intellectual acumen and skill set. Rather than take his car into an area where parking would likely pose a problem, he opted to take the subway, leaving his home at 9:00 a.m. for what should be at most a half hour trip door to door. Nothing beats the NYC subway system for getting around cheaply and quickly, especially during rush hour when bumper-to-bumper traffic moves at about the same rate as the average lethargic slug. Traffic flow is further impeded by traffic lights whose timing sequence seems to be set by particularly perverse, sadistic children during breaks from biting their baby siblings, torturing puppies and singeing the tail feathers of caged songbirds on sunny windowsills with magnifying glasses when their parents are not looking.

As he neared the ten-story office building that housed what might become his first academic home, he slowed his pace as he was nearly a half hour early and knew that he should not arrive earlier than fifteen minutes before his scheduled interview. He walked slowly past a variety of small shops, that included a Chinese restaurant with about a half dozen small tables visible through the front window, a pizzeria, a check cashing place sporting a prominent “Payday Loans” neon sign in its window, a bagel shop, a tattoo parlor and several bars. He continued past the office building towards the courthouse, enjoying the glorious early fall day. As he approached the courthouse, he could see dozens of lawyers going about their business, many of them accompanied by their clients chatting on their way to court or holding impromptu conferences. He smiled at the realization that it was often hard to distinguish criminal lawyers from their clients as they moved side by side on their way to and from the criminal courthouse. The lawyers, of course, could be discerned from their ubiquitous bulging leather briefcases, but seemed every bit as shabby, shifty and untrustworthy as their charges and wearing similarly rumpled off-the-rack suits and sports jackets. Even his criminal law professor in law school fit that mold—there was too much of the streets about them, a greater affinity to their clients than to the polish and eloquence that used to be associated with the legal profession in the days when lawyers were not free to hawk their services on commercials during television shows aimed at the terminally unemployable members of society with loud, obnoxious, misleading commercials. These echoed all the finesse and professionalism of local used car salespeople hawking their wares to individuals with toxic credit histories in the wee hours of the morning.

“Have you been injured by a slip and fall? Did the police find a kilo of heroin in your car after a traffic stop motivated by racial profiling?  Is the IRS hounding you because you’ve never paid taxes? Is your son doing poorly in school because he was slapped too hard on his fanny by the obstetrician at birth? Were you denied employment or a promotion because you are an unqualified drug user with a bad attitude, body odor and perpetual absenteeism caused by Chronic Lethargy Syndrome? You may be entitled to compensation. Call 1-800-SHEISTER and a lawyer will come to your home to discuss your case. No injury is too small or frivolous for us to pursue. The law firm of Sheister & Sheister is always on your side.” These commercials should come with the following rapidly-scrolling disclaimer in small print (but do not--a testament to the political clout bought by the very generous campaign contributions of trial lawyers in the United States):

“Disclaimer: we only take cases we know we can win with a minimum of effort, and then only on a 50-percent contingency fee basis. We routinely file cases with little or no merit knowing full well that judges will seldom throw them out on pretrial motions, and count on our ability to settle almost any claim for its nuisance value of $10,000 or less as the average litigation will cost defendants $25,000 in lawyer’s fees and it is cheaper for them to pay us $10,000 to go away than it is to win a Pyrrhic victory in court and have to pay their attorneys $25,000. After paying for court fees and some ancillary expenses off the top from the $10,000 nuisance judgment, we get about $4,500 for little or no work beyond basic motions filed by our underpaid paralegals, and you get $4,500 for any injury real or imagined that may have been caused by anyone you choose to sue. God Bless America, the only country on the planet in which lawyers have succeeded in maintaining the sanctity of the American Rule that prevents losing parties from having to pay the legal expenses of the prevailing party.”

After walking past the courthouse killing time and thinking these dangerous, subversive thoughts that would get him immediately voted off the island by his brothers and sisters of the bar, he turned around after a leisurely seven-minute stroll and slowly walked back. He made his way to the fourth floor at precisely 9:45 a.m.

“Dan Amor to see Mr. Lantz,” he told the smiling receptionist. “He’ll be with you in a moment.” She picked up the phone, punched a button and announced, “Mr. Amor is here to see you.” She then turned to Dan and said sweetly, “Please sit down. He’ll be right with you “

Before Dan had a chance to take a seat, a smiling, short, thin man in his late thirties with short hair in an almost perfect horseshoe pattern around a gleaming, bald head opened the inner door to the right of the reception area and offered Dan a broad smile. “Good morning, Dan. Please come in. I’m Marvin. It’s good to meet you.” Marvin extended his hand to Dan who shook it firmly, saying “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for seeing me.”

Marvin held the door open and asked Dan to pass through. Dan noted what appeared to be a metal detector as he walked through the threshold, while also noticing another metal detector on the wider door to the left of the reception area that must lead to the classrooms given the number of young people carrying books that he saw walking through it. Unlike today, metal detectors at a school in the 1980s was something Dan had never seen before and found curious. Marvin pointed to the end of the hallway and said, “My office is just down the hall, please follow me.” On the way to Marvin’s office, Dan saw several small offices with people busy at work at their desks, and a large office just before Marvin’s door that looked like a phone bank with a half dozen people working the phones in diminutive cubicles.

As he walked inside Marvin’s office, Dan noticed a short man with mid-length hair staring out the large picture window at the traffic below on Queens Boulevard. The man’s shirt, though clean and of apparent good quality, was rumpled and looked slept in. The man turned his attention to Marvin and to Dan when he heard them come in. Unlike Marvin’s conservative blue tie and a pressed shirt, the man’s tie sported a cacophony of discordant colors that could have been designed by a chimp of subpar intelligence on an acid trip supplied with finger paints in all the primary colors for its hands and feet. The man immediately walked towards Dan with his hand extended in the style of life insurance salesmen, car dealers and televangelists the world over.

“Good to meet you, Dan. I’m Jerry Mason, Vice President for Administration of PEMTI,” the man said, enthusiastically shaking Dan’s hand. “Marvin and I will be interviewing you today and appreciate your coming to see us on short notice.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Mason. Thank you for granting me this interview,” Dan replied meeting the man’s smile, though not quite matching it’s size or intensity.

“Call me Jerry. We Don’t stand on ceremony here, plus I don’t hold a doctorate, just an MS in Marketing. Please, sit down,” he added, pointing to one of two padded leather chairs in front of a massive mahogany desk. ”You too, Marvin. I’ll just stand if you don’t mind.” Marvin smiled and took the seat, but not before offering Dan a cup of coffee or tea, pointing to an elegant side table with freshly brewed coffee, china cups and saucers, a matching sugar bowl, and silver spoons. The office smelled pleasantly of vanilla and fresh brewed French roast coffee. Dan waved off the offer with thanks and sat down, opening his leather portfolio on his lap.

“Would either of you like a copy of my resume or letters of reference?” He asked, looking at both men. “No thank you,” Marvin replied. “We both have a copy and have reviewed it carefully,” he added. Jerry leaned back on the windowsill behind Marvin’s desk and studied Dan while Marvin spoke. “Why don’t you begin by telling us a little about yourself and why you want this job,” Marvin added with a pleasant smile.

Dan covered the basics about his education, training and commitment to higher education. He emphasized his ability to learn almost anything quickly, his legal training and adaptability. He touched on his academic credentials and eclectic competencies as well as his ability to work well both in groups and in self-directed projects.  He closed by explaining that he was a young attorney who did not wish to practice law but instead had chosen to pursue a career in higher education, preferring the intangible rewards and self-satisfaction that career offered over the pecuniary rewards available to a competent young lawyer, with native-language proficiency in Spanish in a city with an insufficient number of attorneys that could effectively serve the needs of a growing Latin American community.  Dan knew but did not mention the insultingly deficient “bilingual attorneys “ whose inability to effectively communicate orally or in writing in Spanish was at once amusing , dangerous and insulting to the clients they targeted through the Spanish-language media.

Dan did not try to address what he anticipated the interviewers would ask as his weakness—lack of experience—was obvious, and he preferred not to raise any negative issue until he was asked about it. The second question, however, he did not anticipate, and it came from Jerry.

“How do you feel about for-profit education?”

Dan answered honestly and immediately. “I really have not given the matter much thought. However, I believe that college is not for everyone, and that there is a very real gap in career training that community colleges are increasingly failing to meet. Most have turned away from their original job-training mission and become feeders for four-year schools. A majority of graduates with associate degrees lack any real marketable skills and are prepared almost exclusively to transfer to a four-year institution that too often will offer similar bachelor’s degrees of little use for those seeking employment.” Both Jerry and Marvin nodded, smiled, and looked at each other as Dan said this.

“I have an uncle who learned typing skills from one business institute or other in Manhattan that saved him from an infantry position when he volunteered to serve in Korea” Dan continued. “He served very near to the front lines, but in a clerical position that kept him out of the infantry because of his office skills. He is a writer now and a retired high school teacher. I envy him the touch-typing skill which served him well and could have earned him a living as a clerk in any number of companies if the G.I. Bill had not allowed him to pursue undergraduate and graduate degrees through the City University of New York and NYU. I also have two very good married friends who trained as beauticians and own their own salon. He is a construction worker who helps out during the winter off season, and she is someone who survived radical cancer surgery in her late teens that left her with physical disabilities that would have precluded her from holding many jobs for which she was otherwise qualified. Both are successful, productive and very happy in their work which would not have been possible other than by attending a proprietary school in NYC. I support for-profit education because I have seen it work, as long as it is offered at a reasonable cost and provides good practical training for individuals that for whatever reason cannot or choose not to go to college.” All of this was true, and it was very well received by both Jerry and Marvin.

“You would be surprised to learn how many people disagree with that point of view,” Jerry said, smiling broadly once again. “But of course we completely agree with you, and we do provide an excellent education at a fair price. We also provide graduates with job placement assistance when they graduate, free of charge and for as long as they need it, not just help in getting their first job after completing their training.”

“That sounds terrific,” Dan said, again meaning it.

This is story of everyone dream to play role in particular gener or drama were we imagine ourselves as them .

A thirty something man seeks to get over his lifelong fear of heights and deep water by conquering them at an isolated resort.

A kobold, space marine and steampunk pirate walks into a bar...

Bartholomew "Bart" Thatcher's tavern has survived five years of interdimensional war when buildings twice its size were reduced to rubble. The clock keeps perfect time, the drinks still bstilpatron's throats, and "last call" remains a negotiable concept.

When three battle-worn soldiers from opposing factions arrive one night (a fire-breathing kobold, a space marine and a steampunk privateer), they bring news that make Bart reconsider closing for the night.

Not that anything matter much when reality itself is tearing apart at the seams.

As Bart serves drinks to former enemies, their shared stories reveal the cosmic joke of their five-year conflict. But when they step outside to a world where nothing worth fighting for remains, only one question lingers:

Who won?

Does it even matter?

A slice-of-life tale set in a bar at the end of everything, where the drinks are strong, the company is strange, and the counter is always clean. Clean-adjacent. Not dirty.

Rani's life is fine. Totally, heartbreak-free, thriving-on-ice-cream-and-denial fine.(She only cries sometimes.)

Now she's trading secrets and heartbreak stories with a guy who makes her laugh again-without realizing she's texting the one man she swore to forget.

Her ex.The one who knew her favorite flowers.The one who broke her heart at a dinner she still pretends didn't happen.

Rani's got rules:No second chances.No wondering if the universe is trying to be funny.

But fate has a twisted sense of humor.And falling for a stranger feels a lot like falling for him all over again.

Lia Faye is a Sixth year student at Hogwarts who accidentally gets added to a group chat containing nine elves- Sophie, Keefe, Fitz, Biana, Tam, Linh, Dex, Marella and Stina. She befreinds all of them and maybe finds love.

"To tell you a story, you'd need to know how different things were back then. The world was filled with creatures who could destroy us at any moment. Some people even managed to control them, not that they stood a chance. Anyways, there were also gods and goddesses who sometimes watched over us-not all of them were good people, keep in mind. With that out of the way, let's begin..."

A world where monsters from every mythology roam—gods, demons, and beasts once thought to be legend. Humanity’s last hope lies in those born with the power to summon weapons from their souls, each one shaped by will and purpose.

When a mysterious force pulls strangers from across the globe into a frozen wasteland, they arrive with no answers—only their powers and the monsters hunting them. Forced to survive together, these unlikely allies begin a journey that will forge deep bonds... and reveal a hidden enemy that’s been watching all along....

Later on, a fractured soul battles the remnants of a power he doesn’t fully understand. Once a shadow of someone else, he now carries the weight of a past he never chose and a future he can’t outrun.

Alongside others like him—fragments of identity, warriors of circumstance—he faces a growing darkness that wears his face and speaks in his voice. A figure that doesn’t just threaten the world, but twists it, breaks it, and narrates it like a cruel story unfolding.

As allies become uncertain and enemies turn familiar, lines blur between reality and illusion, memory and manipulation. What began as survival becomes a slow unraveling of self, where guilt is weaponized, and peace is only ever temporary.

But even fractured souls can fight back.

To the villain, love is a poison he should avoid. But what if a bubbly girl, his enemy who's fated to destroy the Faerie Realm, falls in love with him? Will the villain get the girl and disrupt her destiny, or will his avoidance of love disrupt her heart?Meilin is prophesied to end the era of the High Faerie Lords alongside the Demon King. But as an 18-year-old girl with a passion for gaming, her life takes a turn when she joins a popular Esports team—Solaris—whose mischievous leader, Ningshun, carries a dangerous secret about his identity and connection to Meilin.What happens if the charming man she falls for is actually the heir to the throne of the Faerie Realm?

- Touch her and die,- Forced proximity,- Meet-cute to disaster,- He has his own agenda,- She drives him nuts,- Slow-burn romance.

In memory of Matthew Shepard

It all began when Freddie Bones the town's self- proclaimed " master of greeting's", decided that plain old "hello" was simply far too boring. He thought, " Why should my friendly interaction be predictable?"

[P.s This was written for a contest]

"You don't need to pretend, Zoya!" Logan shouted over the radio noise.

Zoya's heart ached as she tucked in her lips, wishing she could turn back time to when she was a teenager. She was baffled by how the only man she had ever loved could cause her such heartbreak, one that couldn't be diagnosed under an X-ray machine.

In the past ten years, Zoya had invested her time and emotions into the marriage, neglecting her own needs and desires.

Her parents had never supported her relationship with Logan, advising her to focus on her studies when she was just 16. But she had threatened to run away, using her status as an only child to force them to accept her early marriage.

After graduating high school, Logan convinced her to become a full-time housewife. Initially, the marriage was perfect, with Logan taking her on dates, shopping sprees, and vacations. He swept her off her feet, and she abandoned her plans for further education.

However, as Logan became a successful business tycoon, their time together became limited. Whenever she complained about his late nights, he would wrap his arms around her and give her a gentle squeeze, silencing her protests.

Now, Zoya felt a tiny bump in her stomach, followed by a sour pain, but she remained silent. "I can go on a three-month trip," she bargained, her voice discreet but frail.

Logan's response was a dirty smirk, and he leaned forward, staring deeply into her eyes. "My sweet pretensions, Zoya, I don't need you to think for me or go on a vacation."

Zoya felt rejection crawling into her shattered heart, wondering if their love boat had crashed long ago. She remembered her father's fury ten years ago, her mother's attempts to pacify him, and how her father had blocked all communications with her after the wedding.

"Can't you give us a try?" she asked, her voice sounding like a plea.

Logan's lips moved closer to her ears, his words barely audible. "Taste changes, people move on." He shrugged expressively, and Zoya saw his mouth move but couldn't hear properly due to her own emotional deafness.

She crawled on the floor, begging him not to end their marriage, desperate to save it. Logan stepped on her hands, grinding on them in circles, and Zoya swallowed the pain.

He stumbled back, spat on her injured hand, and threw divorce papers on her lap. "It's over, Zoya. Keep the house; I don't want to be stuck in the disgusting memories you've forced on me over the years. Sign that, and I'll have someone collect it in the morning."

With that, Logan turned and walked out of the house, leaving Zoya shattered and alone.